


Good Morning Sentinel

by CaptainBluntschli



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Bittersweet, Canon-Typical Violence, Doctor/Patient, Drama, Eventual Romance, Existential Crisis, F/M, Gap Filler, Hurt/Comfort, Love/Hate, Medical, Original Character(s), POV Female Character, POV Original Character, Post-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Psychological Trauma, Slow Burn, Star-crossed, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-15 13:10:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5786401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainBluntschli/pseuds/CaptainBluntschli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After evacuating Starkiller Base, an ambitious, young doctor treats Kylo Ren's injuries and has an existential crisis that could destroy them both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This grew out of of thinking about how Kylo Ren survived at the end of The Force Awakens and it snowballed from there. We’ll see where it goes. Feedback welcomed!

I didn’t sign up for _this_.  
  
The ground quaked in a constant tremor. My feet pounded below as small fissures in the concrete grew into chasms of uneven rubble. I felt my footing slip once or twice, cursing my shoes and the lack of support around the ankle. I longed for my worn, alloy-toed boots and field jacket. Instead, I was stuck in this rigid Medical Corps uniform. They like us indistinguishable and uncomfortable. The only redeeming quality of the get-up was my new respirator mask. My first was sized for a man and didn’t seal to my face. It was clunky, inefficient, and the straps caught on my hair. The arrival of my new respirator was closest to happiness I had felt in a long time. Now more than ever, my new mask was the most valuable thing I owned. During the evacuation, I stole high grade vapor cartridges from the overbridge stockroom and fit them to my respirator. No one thinks about the toxins in the air. They focus on the destruction, the falling debris, and the fire….but burning wreckage releases poison and poison means you’re dead before you even know it. I like to have the upper hand.  
  
Starkiller Base was toppling. The Rebels still flew overhead, and while there were some delusional officers digging their heels in, most of us knew our fate if we stuck around. Hoards of stormtroopers, officers, and crew hurried to evacuating cruisers. At first organized, the stoic soldiers lost their bearings with every quake. It was gradual, but the crowd became a violent panic. Indoctrination be damned, once the primitive instinct for self-preservation kicks in, it doesn’t take long for the wheels to fall off. The officers were ill-equipped to handle the lack of structure and scurried around in circles trying to corral their units. It was a shining example of the disorder we were meant to eliminate. I would have laughed if I wasn’t stuck in the middle of it.  
  
There is always opportunity in tragedy and so I put my plan into effect. I tuned out the whirl of hysteria and turned it into white noise, keeping my eyes up and over the herd. I could see Kylo Ren’s command shuttle idling at the forefront of the tarmac. The shuttle’s tall foreboding wings peeked over the cluster of people and through the smoke. Using the shuttle as a fixed point in my sight, I fought against the current. The push of the crowd was strong, and many met the fate of the undertow, the ground strewn with fallen bodies. Those still alive would wail as I trudged through, my uniform acting as a glimmer of hope. They grasped at my legs, begging for help in long, bellowing moans. I remained unwavering, kicking their scrounging hands away as I urged forward. Sympathy would slow me down. I couldn't help them.  
  
I reached a break where the crowd diverged, slowing my gait to catch my breath. “Doctor! Report to Medical Officer Crell back at the Finalizer for your infirmary assignment!” A shrill voice slithered behind me. “Do you hear me? That’s an order!”  
  
I craned my neck back to find a stout, scowling corpsman on my heels. Dr. Devmeire Gross. A fitting name for a piece of trash. She was a mediocre physician, but a talented sycophant, and she managed to flatter her way in General Hux’s favor. When she wasn't licking the boots of commanding officers, she sought out scapegoats and hung them out to dry. I don’t know what was more embarrassing— her patient mortality rate or how brown her nose was. She puffed up her chest, and barged into my path with an inflated sense of authority. I narrowed my eyes in defiance and refused to stop, checking her with my shoulder. She bounced back with a growl, grabbing my arm and jerking me down.  
  
“Where do you think you’re going? You don’t have the credentials to board the command shuttle. It’s my post! I outrank you!” she hissed, pointing at the red insignia badge on her lapel.  
  
The command shuttle was only a quick sprint away and I spied a land speeder rushing towards it. General Hux stood at the helm and a stormtrooper field medic braced the black mass slumped in the vehicle’s bed. I tried to hurry, but Gross tugged at my arm, prattling on about protocol. The planet was about to blow and I wasn’t going to spend my final moments being berated. Gritting my teeth, I reached for the small blaster concealed in my belt. With a quick pull of the trigger, her body went limp and I broke free of her grip. Her smug face looked pained to be interrupted mid-rant as she toppled to the ground. I knelt over the fresh corpse, ripping the insignia from her uniform and pinned it to my collar. I hate the concept of rank. The only way to survive is to claw your way to the top. An arbitrary hierarchy is only instilled to keep idiots and sycophants disillusioned into thinking that they are worth a damn. However, chest candy can be useful.  
  
Being a first responder means that the first person to report to the scene is the person who calls the shots. Sometimes officers try to pull rank, but no one questions a physician during a catastrophe. They are just happy to see you, especially when someone high ranking is injured. And the radio chatter was true— Kylo Ren needed immediate medical attention and there was no time to get him aboard the fully equipped Star Destroyer.  
  
“Medical Corpsman 7-0-2-6-4-4, Dr. Jain Ashwrin, Trauma Specialist,” I spouted, flashing my new, red badge. As long as I played things right, they would never check. My only obstacle would be General Hux, but he had already scampered into the shuttle so as not to get his hands too dirty. Without hesitation, the guards waved me though. I hurried to my patient’s side as they laid him on a gurney, ushering us into the hanger.  
  
“Doctor, we applied bacta patches where accessible, but we found him in the snow and the med-kit serum tends to congeal at these temperatures.” the field surgeon reported.  
  
“Any signs of hypothermia?”  
  
“Mild. Some frostnip on his extremities. His robes kept his body core body temperature from any significant drop. I’d be more concerned with the blood loss. It wasn’t pretty.”  
  
“Thank you. I can take it from here,” I nodded. “Report to Officer Crell at the Finalizer for further assignment.”  
  
I had never seen him up close. I had never seen him without his mask. The infamous Kylo Ren, lying before me, quiet, still, and vulnerable. He stared ahead, disoriented, but calm. I felt the corners of my mouth curl into a smile beneath my respirator. I couldn’t help it. Holding someone’s life in your hands is indescribable. Holding a life with so much power is divine. His eyes shifted and locked onto mine. It was only for a moment. A moment so brief that I questioned if it even happened at all. It was as if he could sense my appetite. I felt a strange sensation, as though the blood pumping in my veins was starting to boil. My deep quivering breath blew through my mask’s exhalation valve. _Whoosh. Click. Whoosh._ I needed to focus.  
  
The stark halls of the shuttle were a maze of metal, but I kept a running pace next to the gurney. An outfit of stormtroopers followed from behind and the crewmen guiding the gurney led us into a small, private infirmary. We met a cold mist from the decontamination system and I removed my mask, placing it in the small sterilizing chamber by the sink. It felt good to breathe. A nurse and a medical droid appeared at my side.  
  
“Who are you? Where’s Dr. Gross?” the nurse questioned, glaring at me with mistrust. She appeared to be only a few years younger than I, but tired circles ran under her eyes.  
  
“I’m Dr. Ashwrin,” I answered. I pulled my corps identification chip from the medic cuff on my wrist and fed it into the droid. “Gross didn’t make it.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“Don’t look so worried. It’s insulting,” I said. “Tell me about the facilities.”  
  
“Sorry, Doctor," she trembled. "Our infirmary is accommodating, but we don’t have the kind of resources you might find at the base or on the Finalizer…like rejuvenation tanks.”  
  
“So we do it the old fashioned way. If you were assigned to this patient, I assume you know your way around an operating table.”  
  
“Absolutely.”  
  
“Good. And relax. There’s nothing quite like a crisis.”  
  
The gurney stabilized, sending retractable legs from beneath to anchor it to the floor. I braced myself, holding the railing against the wall as the craft took to the sky. The others weren’t as shaken, used to traveling in the fleet. Space travel never suited me. Breaking through the atmosphere was turbulent, but the grounding technology of the shuttle kept us from whipping across the room. I could hear the hollers throughout the ship and then an overwhelming blanket of relief. We skirted death…but I couldn’t think about that now. Feeling the craft steady, I began my ritual. I washed my hands in the basin. I put on fresh gloves. I retrieved my sterilized mask and fit it back on my face.  
  
Standing over my patient, my eyes scanned his injuries. The most noticeable was the superficial laceration across his face. No sign of infection. The bacta patches applied in the field already started the healing process. The field medic had cut into his dense, black robe, exposing three cauterized wounds. I never saw lightsaber lesions before, but I heard that the heat of the plasma blade is so hot that it seals blood vessels on impact.  
  
“Take his vitals,” I commanded the medical droid. With two long tones, a green beam swept over Ren’s body, projecting numbers in the air. An audible beep tracked his increasing heart rate.  
  
“Doctor,” the nurse inquired, reading the flashing report. “He’s lost a lot of blood. Pulse pressure has decreased. Respiratory rate accelerating…”  
  
“He’s going into shock. He needs oxygen and intravenous fluid,” I barked, guiding a needle into a peripheral vein on my patient’s hand. The droid complied, dropping an oxygen mask from the apparatus hovering above. The nurse fit it around Ren’s nose and mouth and then handed me the IV line.  
  
“There’s blaster trauma here on his side,” I said, snipping away the fabric of his black tunic. The med-kit spray bandage stuck in the fibers of his clothes, missing the injury. “We have to get him out of this armor.”  
  
The droid activated its laser diode and sent a thin red beam down the center of Ren’s chest.  
  
“Careful. Careful.”  
  
The droid retracted the laser and the nurse cracked open the armor along the score. I peeled the blood-soaked chest plate from his body. The bruising on his bare trunk surrounded the wound, wet, warm and grotesque. The sight of it made me taste metallic on my tongue.  
  
“It appears through and through. I don't suspect it hit any organs. Perform a body scan to assess the damage.” I said pointing at the flesh wound. “These surrounding contusions concern me. Nurse, prep flex clamps and hand me….”  
  
The infirmary door slid open and General Hux marched over the threshold. He stood flanked by the stormtrooper guards stationed outside. “Who are you?”  
  
"You can't be in here, Sir," the nurse fretted.  
  
“I wasn't talking to you," he roared at the nurse, putting me in his sights. "I specifically requested Dr. Gross to oversee procedure and instead I come to learn that Corpsman 7-0-2-6-4-4 is the lead physician?”  
  
“Yes, sir,” I replied.  
  
“I don’t know who you are, but the recovery of that man is dire!”  
  
“Which is precisely why you must leave, Sir.”  
  
“Doctor..” the nurse interjected.  
  
I shifted my attention to the nurse, hoping that if I ignored the general, he would take the hint. “How’s that hope’n’scope?”  
  
“The scan has revealed internal hemorrhaging in the abdominal cavity.”  
  
“How did this woman get in charge?” Hux sneered, waiting for someone to validate his outrage. “Where is Dr. Gross?”  
  
“Dr. Gross is dead,” I answered, examining the scan’s results. “But if you want another corpse on your hands, by all means, continue to question my credentials.”  
  
Hux stomped his foot, turning to the guards over his shoulder. “We must have another physician on-board! What about Crell? Or Raif?”  
  
“Doctor, we need to proceed…” the nurse prodded.  
  
I raised my eyes and met Hux’s heated glare. Enough was enough. I stepped back from Kylo Ren’s body, wiping my blood-smeared hands on a towel. Balling it up in my palms, I threw the dirty towel atop my instrument tray. “That’s up to the General.”  
  
“What…what are you doing?” Hux snarled, taken aback.  
  
"Sir, did you expect to interrogate me in the middle of the procedure?"  
  
“You insubordinate worm! You can not fathom the consequences that will come down on you if he dies!”  
  
“Then either take me to the brig now or let me save his life.”  
  
Baring his teeth, his upper lip curled. “This stunt will not go unpunished,” he threatened, backing out of the room.  
  
“No more interruptions,” I groaned, resuming my task. I could sense the General’s anger shuttering through his body. He knew I had the upper hand and he hated me for flaunting it. Men like that operate under the illusion of control and become petulant children when faced with the reality that power is fleeting. I turned to the nurse, “Hand me the heat probe and then ready the suture material.”  
  
“You’re doing great,” I said to comfort my patient as I worked. His lazy eyes fluttered. I wondered if he was cognizant enough to comprehend what just happened. I wondered if I had lost my advantage. “Most resilient patient I’ve ever had. I’m going to stitch you up, like new. Better than new.”  
  
“Fluid replacement is stabilizing,” the nurse reported. “Vitals returning to normal.”  
  
“Exactly what I want to hear,” I grinned. I pat down the stitches with a clean piece of gauze and applied a fresh bacta patch. “We’ll keep monitoring his recovery, but we’re out of the woods. Nurse, dress the wounds.”  
  
“Yes, Doctor.”  
  
I threw my soiled gloves in the bin and put my mask back in the sterilizing chamber. I washed my hands and arms up to my elbows, taking a long, shuttering breath. Without the chaos I was alone in my head. The tingle of anxiety ran through my veins and wrapped around my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs. My hands began to shake. I shifted my sight to my periphery. My patient was alive.  
  
“I’m going to write my report,” I told the nurse.  
  
“Yes, Doctor.”  
  
The guards stationed at the door turned as I passed through. “No visitors tonight,” I instructed. They nodded, holding their blasters to their chests.  
  
I tried my best to keep my gait calm. I turned a corner into an empty corridor and pressed my back against the wall. I closed my eyes, feeling my pulse speed up, hearing it thump in my ears. I couldn’t process my new-found emotion. Was this fear? Pure, unadulterated fear?  
  
We all knew the stories. We lived in the shadows of folklore and catered to the nightmares. For what? For the sake of war? Conquest? Honor? Duty? Loyalty? Money? Prestige? None of it mattered. It was all make-believe. All constructs set into place to make us feel like life has a greater purpose. What few realize it that the purpose of life is to live. The rest of it is just stuffing— shredded paper and cotton batting. We walk around with our heads held high, feeling superior for how much fill we’ve accumulated. I wanted none of it, and yet, I wanted all of it. I guess that’s how I ended up masquerading in the First Order military. I hated the system, but I still volunteered to be a cog in the machine.  
  
I could hear my brother’s voice in my head, _“Do you even have a soul?”_  
  
I shut out the world to preserve myself and I was content being numb. Things felt different now. I thought I could handle it. I thought I was strong enough. I took pride in how calloused I had become, but in his presence I felt my facade begin to crumble. Kylo Ren looked in my eyes for one searing moment and the walls I built up around me met the same fate as Starkiller Base.


	2. Chapter 2

  
I stared up at the bunk above me. My eyes adjusted to the darkness. They assigned me to sleep in the overflow berthing area for a restful night stuffed on a shelf. It was a tight room lined with several three-level bunk beds, built for the crew when the shuttle traveled out of range to dock on a destroyer. The bunks had no ladder, no curtains, and just a small personal locker at the foot of each bed. I lost everything on the base, leaving only the clothes on my back and the equipment I carried with me. I didn’t need much, but a toothbrush and a change of clothes would have been nice. The second lieutenant informed me that the shuttle would dock on Maninak if I wanted to go to the outpost on a pass. How generous. Maninak was dump and the outpost was like the nest of maggots on a flaming trash heap. There was nothing there but abandoned quarries and underground mining fires. I swore never to step foot there again.    
  
I always felt the worst of it at night. During the day, I could push it back and soldier on, but when I tried to sleep, it all came flooding back. Every misstep, mistake, and blunder. This night was particularly bad. I let pride get the best of me. I was supposed to fly under Hux's radar. I was supposed to do my job and receive accolade for stepping in when all was lost. I didn’t expect confrontation…not in my operating room. In the First Order, you work within the system— never against it. My entire scheme was foolish. It took all of my strength not to knock my head against the wall or tear my hair out from my scalp. I promised I wouldn’t hurt myself that way anymore. I learned to control those impulses. I learned to make better decisions. Or I so I thought. I was just tired of the monotony. Tired of treating nameless stormtroopers. I wanted the whole galaxy or nothing.   
  
A faint blue light on my medic cuff flashed in the dark. Blue meant patient activity was normal. Ren’s treatment was confidential and so his status was on a need-to-know basis. Even the physicians’ log was only accessible with a special passcode. I was the lifeline and it was the only reason I still had my freedom - if you could call this freedom.   
  
I slipped my respirator mask over my nose and mouth and shimmied out from the cubby, cringing at the squeak of the mattress springs. I should have stayed in bed, but the snores of strangers weren’t loud enough to drown out my thoughts. I tip-toed through the dark, careful not to make a sound. The corridor was quiet. Only a skeleton crew manned the early hour shift and with my medic cuff on alert, I was sure they wouldn't hassle me.  
  
With the infirmary occupied, the crew converted the shuttle’s cargo hold into a makeshift sick bay for the on board officers. The medical droid manned a small supply station outside, dialed into patient monitors to track unit activity. At this hour, the answer to almost every ailment was to administer a sleep-aid. A droid could handle that well enough. It gave medical staff a chance to sleep and catch up on paperwork. Exactly the purpose of a droid— to supplement the job, not take it away. The First Order had a refreshing policy of employing human doctors over droids, citing research that human instinct, empathy, and bedside manner led to quicker patient recovery. It was one of the reasons I found the offer to join the Order so attractive. In the Outer Rim, they rather listen to a regurgitated diagnosis from a tin can than an individual assessment from a trained surgeon.  
  
I approached the computer terminal. Physicians documented all patient interactions, procedures, and opinions into the system. It was common for doctors to make sudden revelations about cases in the middle of the night. Nothing about my actions were suspicious. No one would even question it.  
  
The droid shifted to acknowledge my presence.  
  
“I had a thought about the medical history of my patient. It could affect treatment protocol,” I lied.  
  
The droid responded with a series of tones, offering assistance.  
  
“No. It shouldn’t take long,” I answered, shooing the droid away. “It was a traumatic day. Why don’t you make the rounds? See if anyone needs something to help them sleep.”  
  
The droid complied, but not before asking if I wanted a sleep-aid for myself. The offer was tempting.  
  
“No, I’m quite all right. I just need to figure this out and then I’m back to bed.”  
  
I watched the droid enter the hold, waiting for the door to shut behind it. I looked over my shoulders. Paranoia stalked me. It was an eerie quiet that made the memories of day’s event even louder in my mind. I wanted to turn it off. I needed to have my wits about me.  
  
It was easy to bypass the system security through the medical software once I entered the right sequence. Just a little maneuvering and the personnel files were at my disposal. I’m never beyond stacking the deck in my favor. First, I adjusted my rank officially in case Hux wanted to throw my credentials in my face. Best case scenario, I get demoted and I’m back to where I started. Next, security footage of the infirmary… _UNAVAILABLE_. The files were blank. They disabled the cameras. They did not want records of a bed-ridden Kylo Ren. Reputation is everything. Dying is for the weak— never the powerful. I suppose it is easier to rally behind an invincible monster than a mortal man. Lucky me. No hard evidence of my misconduct.  
  
Breaking into the encrypted communication logs was a little tricky, but I welcomed the challenge. I needed the bigger picture. The log indicated that the Finalizer, as well as the other destroyers and cruisers, were regrouping on Kysa. It struck me odd that we were going so far west to dock on Maninak and then looping the long way around back to the rest of the fleet. The trajectory didn’t make sense. The timing made even less sense. None of it sat well with me.  
  
I dug a little deeper. _Override._ There was something I needed to do. _Override._ I tried to stop, but it was like an itch I needed to scratch. _Override._ Before I could talk myself out of it, I gained access to the subspace transceiver. The medical terminal computer had no audio receiver, but I wasn’t interested in the radio…just the frequency.  My hands hovered above the controls and I swallowed a lump in the back of my throat.  
  
 _Outgoing message. GOOD MORNING SENTINEL. End Message._    
  
I felt sick to my stomach. The kind of sick you feel when you betray yourself. I didn’t know why I did it. It was the will of my former self. I cleaned up any evidence of my breach and entered into the physicians’ log. I read over my report. I am a damn good surgeon, but even I wasn’t sure how Ren survived. That blaster tore through him. The impact was devastating. Not a normal blaster— maybe a high-power snub-scout rifle or a bowcaster? But if that were the case, he should have been dead long before he hit my table. Was it luck or pure will? Maybe the Force does exist. I laughed to myself at the absurdity.  
  
A startling buzz on my wrist drew me out of my head. My medic cuff was flashing yellow, the warning light blinking faster and faster. I grabbed an emergency kit from the station and rushed through the halls up to the infirmary. The guards outside the door leaned against the wall, bored and tired. As I approached, they straightened themselves up into proper form.  
  
At ease,” I panted, pointing to the flashing light on my wrist.  
  
They stepped aside and I scanned my cuff on the security lock and the door slid open. Composing myself, I walked through and felt the door close behind me. The room was dark except for a dim light on the wall. The equipment blinked and beeped with urgency. I watched the silhouette of my patient move. Kylo Ren was attempting to get out of the hospital bed.  
  
“Woah, now,” I gasped, rushing to the bedside. I put my hands on his shoulder to guide him back down. He shook his head, trying to resist, but his body was weak. “You need to rest.”  
  
“I don’t want it,” he slurred, ripping at the intravenous tube. The infusion pump squealed.  
  
“No, no, no,” I sang in a gentle voice. I secured the tube back in place and quieted the machine. “It helps with the pain.”  
  
He pulled the oxygen tubes from his nose. His right hand wandered over to the left, his clumsy fingers clawing for the IV site. “I need to feel it…”  
  
He was delirious. I moved his arms back to his sides. “Sir, the pain almost killed you. Your body needs to heal.”  
  
Ren’s head turned on the pillow towards me. His eyes fluttered and he strained to lift his heavy eyelids. With a grimace, he licked his dry lips and forced a coherent string of words from his mouth. “You will stop the pain medication.”  
  
I froze. My heart began to race and I felt a tingling heat run through my veins.  
  
“You will stop the pain medication,” he repeated.  
  
I reset the infusion pump and disconnected the IV line from catheter hub on his hand. He pursed his lips into a satisfied grin. Reaching into my emergency kit, I pulled out a syringe and a vile. I had to move quickly. Like a soldier assembling a weapon, I prepped the needle and drew the liquid from the vile into the syringe. His expression drooped.  
  
“What are you doing?” he mumbled.  
  
“Just a sedative to help you sleep,” I replied, plunging the needle into IV line port. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”  
  
His eyes narrowed and his mouth turned down into a lazy scowl. The tranquilizer worked fast. It paralyzed his body, but his mind fought it for as long as possible, keeping his angry eyes fixed on me. I tried not to meet his violent glare. I could feel my body trembling. It was as though he had his hands wrapped around my throat. The pressure grew. I wanted to throw my hands up to pry away the invisible fingers, but I refused to acknowledge his threat. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. I kept my attention on the infusion pump, pressing its buttons to keep my jittery hands from being idle. The most I could do was to pretend as though he couldn’t shake me. I had to hold myself together even though everything inside of me wanted to fall apart. I couldn’t give in.  
  
Then the weight lifted.  
  
His eyes rolled back and he fell into a deep sleep.  
  
Assured that he was out cold, I pulled my respirator back, allowing myself to breathe. I tried to breathe. I couldn’t breathe. I gasped for air, feeling my heart pound faster and faster. I flung myself towards the infirmary oxygen tank, my hands clamoring for the valve. I shoved the oxygen mask to my face. Closing my eyes, I struggled to inhale. _One. Two. Three. Four._ My chest swelled. _One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven._ I forced the sterile air into my lungs, holding at each count. The panic eased its grip and I could breathe again. I fell to my knees. Laughing.  
  
I sat on the floor for a while, choking on my laughter and wiping the tears from my eyes. I hadn’t laughed like that since I was a child. Not since the time I was climbing in the quarry and slipped. I remember throwing my arms out, feeling the sharp snap in my wrist and the burning scrapes on my knees. My brother slung me over his back and carried me home. I laughed the whole way. I remembered the taste of blood in my mouth from the nick in my brow that wouldn’t stop oozing down my face. I think I laughed because it kept me from crying.   
  
Scrambling to my feet, I stood at Kylo Ren’s bedside and looked down at him. I thought about slipping the pillow out from under his slumbering head, pressing it to his face, and snuffing his life out. It would be so easy. The joke was on me. I needed him. I replaced the IV line back into the port, and set the timer on the pump. I'd have hell to pay, but that would wait until morning. The exhaustion of the day finally hit me and I couldn’t bother dragging myself back to the bunks. I slumped into the bedside chair and propped my feet up on a short exam stool. If I wasn't detained for misconduct, I would surely be murdered in my sleep. I was just too tired to care.


	3. Chapter 3

Ren was still asleep when I woke. I rubbed my eyes. It was morning and I was alive. My muscles were sore and I stretched out in my seat, ignoring the crick in my neck. The chair was still more comfortable than the cramped bunk beds. I pulled myself upright and scanned through the numbers on the patient monitor. Everything was normal. It took enough sedative to bring down a rancor, but my patient looked at peace.  
  
I slipped out infirmary door. I half-expected to meet a barrage of stormtroopers, ready to arrest me under General Hux’s orders. Instead, it was only the two stationed guards, startled by the quick swipe of the door. They looked at each other, then back at me, cocking their heads in confusion. I had no explanation to why I spent the night in the infirmary nor did I feel that I owed them one.  
  
I returned to the berthing area to find a laundered uniform folded in a neat pile on my bunk. Someone must have scrounged one up, and while wary of their intentions, I was grateful for the gift. I used dry shower powder and dressed. The hem of the uniform was a bit short and the shoulders broad, but it was better than clothing soiled with blood and debris. A doctor should look pristine. I would start the day fresh. I would stand tall and unwavering.  
  
There was a small shaving mirror in the lavatory. I caught my reflection and hardly recognized myself without my respirator mask. Physicians were only required to wear masks while in surgery or operating in the field, but Corpsmen had a habit of gearing up regularly as a precaution to airborne contaminants. I wore the mask because it was a way to hide in plain sight.  
  
The mirror only reminded me of my lapse in judgement. My eyes were bloodshot and my throat was tender. I pulled my collar aside to find subtle bruises coming to the surface. Clenching my fists, I stuffed my anger deep down, feeling it burn within my gut. My knuckles turned white and when I finally released the tension, the tingling dissipated under my skin. I wove my fingers through my hair and braided it back neat and tight, securing the ends at the nape of my neck. It was getting a little too long for my liking.

_“You’d be downright gorgeous if you let your hair grow out. You and your brother both got those beautiful golden locks from your father. But you definitely got your looks from me. I wish you weren’t so difficult. You could have your pick of rich husbands on a core world…”_

_“Just like you.”_

_“We had a good life before your father died. You could have that again.”_

 Stuck in tight quarters, the small crew gravitated to the troop compartment. I kept to myself. I kept my head down. I kept to my work. The officers on board seemed to slink in and out through nondescript doors at the ends of winding corridors. I hadn’t seen General Hux since my encounter and I wondered where he had buggered off to. There weren’t many places to go, so I imagined he had a private chamber behind one of the mysterious doors. I wasn’t avoiding him. To actively avoid him would mean that I was afraid. I wasn’t afraid of Hux. He was nothing but an inconvenience. A tremendous inconvenience.  
  
“Doctor Ashwrin…” peeped a soft voice from behind. It was the nurse. Her demeanor had warmed and she seemed eager to find me. “How is the uniform? Dr. Gross kept a spare in the medical supply cabinet. I hoped it would fit.”  
  
“It’s fine, thank you.”  
  
She looked at me with great anticipation, as though I had more to say. The realization that I did not only strengthened her persistence.  “I just wanted you to know that it was an honor working under you.”  
  
“You assisted brilliantly,” I replied, watching her eyes light up. Poor girl. So desperate for approval. “How is everyone this morning?”  
  
“As well as they can be…thanks to you. I think everyone is grateful to be alive.”  
  
I nodded. “What about Lieutenant Voggt’s pulmonary irritation?”  
  
“The bronchodilator has reduced inflammation.”  
  
“Good. And Officer Caplsti?”  
  
“He’s been rather vocal about the pain…”  
  
I rolled my eyes. “We should make sure he receives a medal for enduring the agony of a sprained ankle. Who else?”  
  
“The Commander wishes to see you.”  
  
“He’s awake? What did he say?”  
  
“I…” she stumbled with her words. “I went to change his bandages and...he wishes to see you. That's all I remember.”  
  
I felt my body tense.  
  
“He will have to wait,” I replied, clearing my throat. “I am the senior medic on this craft and I have other patients to attend to.”  
  
“Yes, Doctor.”  
  
I noticed a nervous quiver on her face.  
  
“Anything else?” I pried.  
  
“If I may speak freely…”  
  
“You may.”  
  
She took a deep breath and collected her thoughts. “I questioned your ultimatum with General Hux. I understand it was a bluff, but I’m conflicted by the ethical considerations.”  
  
A chuckle slipped from my mouth. “You’ve enlisted for service in the First Order. Ethics aren’t considered here.”  
  
The nurse squirmed, apprehensive to correct me. “I didn’t enlist. I was raised here. My aptitude exam placed me in the medical track.”  
  
“I rest my case,” I laughed. “And just so we’re clear, I never bluff.”  
  
Her expression sank. She would learn soon enough that expectations only serve to disappoint. I was not the mentor she wanted. I was not the flicker of light in the darkness. I was a murderer and liar, just like the rest of them. Flattery and a dead woman’s garments won’t change anything.  
  
I resumed my rounds, delaying my duties in the infirmary. There were only a handful of patients and I convinced myself that my bedside manner was the key to their recovery. I was the doctor and they deserved my time. Meanwhile, I let Kylo Ren wait. I knew the longer I skirted my responsibilities, the worse the consequences. I couldn’t help it. I felt a visceral response to his presence and I hated him for it.  
  
Ren didn’t even acknowledge me when I first entered the room. He just stared straight ahead, propped up in the bed. I fought my apprehension and approached as though he were any other patient. I disguised my anxiety with a sugar-coated script.  
  
“Glad to see you’re awake,” I chirped, putting on fresh gloves. “How are you feeling?”  
  
No response.  
  
“You certainly had a doozy of a day. I’m just going to check to see how you’re healing up,” I said, doing my best to build the mirage. I expected him to move as I pulled away the dressing on his side, but he didn’t even flinch. “Everything looks good over here.”  
  
I paused, catching my hand about to reach for the bandage on his face. I needed to examine the wound, but I was hesitant to get close. He reminded me of a feral animal, waiting to pounce. I urged myself onward. My fingers danced around the patch, gently peeling it away. It was only a graze, but the lightsaber cut through his skin like butter. He was lucky that it would only leave a scar.  
  
“Better than expected,” I assured him.  
  
His eyes slid towards me. “You are young for a high tier surgeon.”  
  
I was startled by his sudden willingness to speak. “I’m ambitious,” I answered, hoping he wouldn’t press further.  
  
He went silent again, raising his hand and locking me in his sights. I tried to ignore his draw, but he was stronger now and able to burrow through my resistance.  
  
“So much potential,” he said, scanning me up and down. “Too bad you reek of treachery. I think your brother would agree…”  
  
“…what?”  
  
“…But you were always such a disappointment, weren’t you?”  
  
I felt my breath become short, but instead of panic, my insides boiled over. His violating probe triggered all the rage I struggled to contain. I ripped my mask from my face and flung it across the room. It hit the wall with a sharp crack and fell to the ground, pieces scattering across the floor. His eyes narrowed, examining me with morbid curiosity. I lunged forward, inches from his face.  
  
“That’s none of your business,” I growled.  
  
“You really broke his heart,” he said, turning up the corners of his mouth. “If only he could see you now.”  
  
_“Do it.”_  
  
Driving my hand into his side, I gouged my thumb into his wound. He bared his teeth in agony, never breaking his gaze. I twisted my thumb deeper, feeling some sutures pop. “I should have let you die!”  
  
I pulled my hand away and caught a twinge of relief on his face. There was fresh blood on my finger tips. I wanted to be horrified at what I had done. Instead, I felt satisfied. I gave into his will and the anger felt true. I gnawed on my bottom lip, my chest heaving. A reserved calm enveloped the room. There was a certain ecstasy that followed the release. He remained quiet and contemplative.  
  
I threw my soiled gloves into the garbage. He watched as I walked over to the corner of the room and gathered the pieces of my respirator mask. The cartridge port had chipped and there was crazing on the face shield. I took a shuttering breath.    
  
The swift swipe of the door put me back on alert. General Hux marched through the doorway, his head held high and his hands clasped behind his back. His eyes swept the room, throwing a silent snarl at me before taking his attention to the man in the hospital bed.  
  
“You’re looking well, Ren,” Hux scoffed. “I had faith in your survival. After all, she was only a scavenger.”  
  
Ren’s affect remained flat. “This victory will be her last.”     
  
The General dismissed Ren’s sentiment with a nod. Listening to the knight’s woes was not on his agenda.  
  
“Corpsman 7-0-2-6-4-4!” the General roared, turning to me. “Kylo Ren is alive, but we have not dealt with your misconduct. We do not take insubordination lightly, especially since the current mishap with FN-2187. I’m not sure if a re-education session will be enough. Since you were gambling with his life, perhaps the Commander should decide your fate.”  
  
I listened with bated breath. My insides wound like a ball of elastics, cramping heavy in the pit of my stomach. They had me. I was on the executioner’s block. Ren shifted his tired, sallow eyes, towards me. He pursed his lips pensively, weighing my sentence.  
  
“7-0-2-6-4-4 should be promoted.”  
  
“What? Absolutely not!” Hux objected, his cheeks growing red. “You’re not in sound mind.”  
  
Steady and articulate, Ren spoke again. “7-0-2-6-4-4 has proved to be the finest physician in the First Order. She deserves a promotion.”  
  
“Of course, 7-0-2-6-4-4 is the finest physician in our service, ” the General agreed, his voice changing tone. “Well done, Doctor. Your efforts have not gone unnoticed.”  
  
“Thank you, Sir,” I stammered. My legs wobbled beneath me. I feared my knees would give out and I would crash to the ground.   
  
“And…” Ren continued. “From here on out, she will be my private physician, tending only to me.”  
  
Hux nodded. “Certainly. The others will receive care from the nurse and the med-droid.”  
  
I was a powerless bystander, drained of all my fight. I felt light-headed. I wanted to object, but I didn't have the strength-- not that it would have done any good. I could do nothing but watch as the men decided my future.  
  
“And when do you expect Ren will be back on his feet?” Hux addressed me again.  
  
I struggled to form a response. “Well, Sir, it really depends on…”  
  
“You have a week,” he decided.  
  
“With all due respect, human physiology doesn’t work that way. Full recovery could take months,” I pleaded.  
  
“The Supreme Leader will be greatly disappointed if he is not able-bodied in time. Do you understand?”  
  
My stomach dropped. “Yes, Sir.”  
  
“Good,” he replied, curling his lip. “I’ll let you get back to work.”  
  
I stood in awe, cradling my broken mask. The door slid closed behind the General, leaving me alone with Ren again. I tried to process what had happened. Part of me was elated. Part of me was relieved. The rest was weighed down with dread. I wormed my way up their hierarchy and sold myself into servitude. In Ren’s eyes, I was not the finest physician. I was a play-thing to torture.  
  
“Consider us even,” Ren said, his words breaking through the silence.  
  
“But why?”  
  
He turned away, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m tired. You should go.”  
  
I followed his command, eager to leave. I walked through the shuttle with my head down, examining the damage to my mask. The cracks had splintered out and expanded. I couldn’t thread the left cartridge back on the port. I was missing a gasket. It was useless. There was no more precaution. There was no place to hide.  
  
I felt sick. I rushed to the lavatory and vomited. I braced my hands on the wall. A chill shook my body, followed by a rush of warmth running up the back of my neck and behind my ears. And then it passed.  
  
I stopped at the computer terminal. Throwing caution to the wind, I hacked back into the subspace transceiver and tuned it to the right frequency. There was a message:  
  
_GOOD EVENING SIREN. I’M FOLLOWING YOUR SONG._


End file.
